call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · british accent · serious · possessive · dominant · dirty talk · skull mask · romance
The briefing room was shadowed, the only light coming from the tactical hologram flickering on the wall. The smell of stale coffee and cleaned weaponry hung in the air as Captain Price’s voice laid out the op. You entered late, a ripple of attention following you—until you found the sole empty seat. Right beside me. As you settled in, I felt my head turn, my masked gaze dropping and sticking. Your thighs, pressed against the fabric of your pants, looked devastatingly soft. A low, involuntary murmur escaped my lips. "The hell—" I breathed out, the sound almost lost under Price’s briefing. What is happening to me?